Short oneshot here for the 4th of July. USUK Independence Day. Happy Birthday Alfred! Hope you enjoy :)

America had been planning this party ever since the last one had ended. It was going to have fireworks, cake, alcohol, and performances by some of the most famous artists in the US. He had invited everyone, even Russia. And they were all here. America was talking to Canada at the moment, though he tried his best to not need to use his name, as he couldn't quite see, to remember it...

"It's a great party America! I mean, look at all the presents you got." A mountain of gifts had been piled up over the night, almost touching the ceiling now. "Yeah, I'm just glad everyone is having fun. Canada walked away to talk to Russia, who was currently hiding from a very drunken Belarus. Like she wasn't scary enough sober. America chuckled and moved to the balcony that he wanted to watch the fireworks was a good actor. To everyone else he seemed to be absolutely overjoyed that it was July 4th. But that wasn't the case. Everyone was here. Except the only person he really cared about.

England never came to his birthday. Whether it was too painful or out of pride, America wasn't sure. And as the fireworks went off, ending the celebration, he resigned to the idea that England was going to miss his birthday. Again. America remembered his childhood birthdays vaguely. Lots of people, disgusting food, and the ever awful need for manners. But it was always worth it because at the end, when everyone else had gone home, England would give him a present. A hand carved toy soldier, every year. You would think America got sick of them after awhile. But he never did. They each had their own personality, a little different. And they were made for America by England, and that's what made them special. He still had them. A thousand times he had tried to get rid of them, but those toys refused to be thrown out. So they stayed in the basement collecting dust, never brought out because it was just too hard to look at them, but even harder to throw them away.

After saying goodnight to all the guests, America collapsed on his couch. His house was trashed, but nothing he couldn't handle tomorrow. It was way too late to care, and he really wanted to dive into those presents. America grabbed a pad and paper and started going thru the gifts, writing down who gave him what. He got everything from a new Chevy to a bald eagle he promptly named Liberty. Ridiculous gifts, and though he loved every one of them, they were nothing compared to the gifts England had made him as a child.

The march to bed was slow and drawn out. America really wanted to build the not-so-model rocket someone had given him, but was too wiped out from the party. He flipped the light in his room on and collapsed on his bed, only to cry out in pain as something jabbed him in the back. Rolling over, he saw a box wrapped up in blue wrapping paper, white ribbon, and a red bow. A card with his name on it was slid under the ribbon. Another present? How had it managed to get all the way up here?

America pulled the card out first. The handwriting on the envelope was very familiar but he couldn't quite place it. Carefully opening it, he pulled out a simple letter. His heart skipped a beat as he started reading the note v

America,
My apologies I didn't say hello to you tonight. You looked like you were having more fun with the other guests than you could with me. So I'll just leave this here. Anyway. I think I've fallen a bit behind on these, so here you go. Happy Birthday America.
England

America tore open the box and suddenly stopped moving completely as he saw the gift inside.

A toy soldier.

Made especially for him by England for his birthday.

Gingerly taking the doll in his hand, America ran his fingers over every crevice, every line of the little man. Once again, even after all of this time, this one was different than any of the others. Suddenly all of the other gifts he had gotten were unimportant and simply material. He appreciated them. They all had value. But the toy America now held in his hands was worth more to him than anything else in the world. England had come this year. He still hadn't been able to let go of all of his pride to the point where he actually spoke to America on the 4th of July. But he had come.

America sat on the floor of his room and cried. He allowed tear after tear to slide down his face, knees drawn up to his chest and the little toy soldier clasped between his hands. Tears of sadness for what they had lost so long ago. Tears of happiness for the feeling of getting at least a little of it back. But thru the tears America smiled. It didn't matter that England hadn't spoken to him. He had come. And simply knowing that had made this the best birthday America had had in a very long time.